I have a special fondness for Neachtain’s famous old traditional Bar in Galway. One reason may be that we both have a long ‘association’ with each other dating back some thirty years or more involving the consumption of copious pints of the ‘black stuff’ on the premises. Another reason may be a certain pride I take in the small design input I provided as an architect to its owners when they were renovating the upper floor restaurant and struggling to adapt such an historic old building to meet stringent and very inflexible fire safety standards.
However, it is memories associated with my family connections with the place that gives me the fondest feelings of pleasure. You see my wife and I were first introduced to the place by a friend when it had all the hallmarks of a Chicago ‘Speakeasy’ in its operation. At that time you had to tap on invariably closed doors and hope to be allowed into its hallowed interior if you were known and trusted. You entered a smoke filled atmosphere of ‘serious’ drinking and ‘non’ serious but lively and often impromptu music playing and singing. The bar was very compact, with a series of interlinked small cramped spaces and a small number of treasured ‘snug’s (for those unfamiliar with traditional Irish pub interiors, a snug was a small fully or partly enclosed cubicle where one could imbibe the pleasures of the ‘dreaded’ drink in relative privacy).You invariably had to come early (coming the previous day might even be advisable!!) to gain entry to a snug and invariably a small group of drinkers hovered within your personal ‘comfort zone’ hoping that you would leave and thus give them an opportunity to occupy the treasured space. However, the unwritten rules of pub ‘etiquette’ normally applied (except of course by the tourists who were often unaware of them) in that when you ‘fought’ (in the nicest sense of this word) through a surging throng to get to the toilet, your seat was often ‘taken’ in the snug but would be given back on your return. This was understandable as such a call of nature could take up to a half hour or more as although the distance was finite and small, the human and furniture objects to be negotiated were many and anyway one was usually ‘waylaid’ by a person with a story to impart or a song to sing for your ‘benefit’. Thus, trips to naturally dispose of the human residue of the black stuff required a ‘stoutness’ of purpose and indeed I often had to turn back and go next door to relieve myself.
Another object of dubious value depending upon your time of arrival was a roaring turf fire which occupied a prominent place in one of the small recesses and which of course was a welcome source of heat and comfort on a cold winter’s night in Galway. However, as the pub became ever more crowded as the night progressed, one usually became aware of the amazing sight of people trying to retrieve a pint from the bar while simultaneously trying to avoid being roasted like chestnuts against the raging inferno of the turf fire alongside them. I often think that it was only the thought of carefully balancing the need for both inner and outer well being that made people run to/from that bar counter past the fire with a pint clutched to their chest in case the precious liquid would spill.
Of course, these halcyon days of blissful pleasure were soon interrupted for my good wife and I by the arrival over a couple of short years of two little ‘dotes’ in the form of our little offspring. We soon replaced the exigencies of the bottled black stuff with that of the white stuff associated more with Cow and Gate milk that the St. James Gate (brewery) with which we had previously been more familiar. So for a few ‘dry’ years we only made the journey into town to Neachtains Bar when we could combine it as a night out with a visit to the Druid Theatre and when we had our precious offspring being minded by a tried and trusted babysitter. However, as I worked just a short distance from the pub and as the children grew older, we began to develop a ‘habit’ of calling in for a pint after work on Friday with our two girls ‘in tow’ before heading home for the evening. We would give the girls some money for sweets and they would go across the street and view the toys in the Wooden Heart Toy shop. (I noticed at the weekend that this lovely shop is still going strong although almost 20 years have passed since this time). For a while we thought this to be an ideal solution and money saving exercise as we did not need a baby sitter so often. The girls were always welcome in Neachtains until 7 o’clock in the evening, so we would spend about a half hour there before we left for home. However, our little illusion was soon shattered when our youngest daughter wrote an essay for the teacher on her ‘best weekend ever’. She described how her Daddy & Mammy gave her lots of money to go to the shops to buy sweets and toys while they went to the ‘PUD’ (she had trouble writing ‘b’ letters) and then her Mammy came go and took the tea out of a brown bag! Needless to say the teacher was a little alarmed by the picture painted by our eloquent daughter and we had to assure her profusely that our little darling had a ‘fevered’ imagination at times. However, just to be on the ‘safe side’ and to avoid a visit from child protective services, we decided to restrict our Friday visits as a result.
Many years have passed in the meantime and my wife and I have continued our valued association with Neachtains Bar. However, having had to close my Galway city based business office because of the recession some two years ago, we have not been accustomed to visit as often or as easily as previously. Thus, it was with a little trepidation that we went there for a drink after our Culture Night celebration in Galway on Friday last. It proved to be a wonderful experience and in a sense was like ‘coming home’. There was a wonderful atmosphere of camaraderie and fun and in the corner playing beautiful traditional music were four musicians from Sweden and Finland called ‘Café Minor’.(CD is called Northern lights). I hasten to add that their music may have been ‘Café’ in style but was certainly not minor in quality. They played a lovely tune called ‘Inis Oirr’ which they associated with a ferry to Inisboffin Island and it would bring tears to your eyes such was its intense beauty of expression. However, the rendition of the song that most surprised and amazed me was their take on the Beatles song ‘Norwegian Wood’. Some of the lines in this song are: ‘she asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere, but I looked around and found that there wasn’t a chair’. These lines in a packed Neachtains seemed appropriate to the place at the time but like the song itself they find an echo of memory in the heart and melody in the soul.
So in finishing, may I saw that it is good to be back in Neachtains again and to still feel a close affinity with the place? I think that it is Tony Bennett who sings that ‘he left his heart in San Francisco’. Well, for my part, I left my ‘Wooden Heart’ in a lovely shop opposite Neachtains in Quay street but part of my emotional heart will always be located in a small snug at the back of Neachtains Bar with a little girl whispering in my ear that she wants another wooden toy NOW!
Motto: Children and Neachtains never stop toying with your Heart!
All comments and musings welcome!
However, it is memories associated with my family connections with the place that gives me the fondest feelings of pleasure. You see my wife and I were first introduced to the place by a friend when it had all the hallmarks of a Chicago ‘Speakeasy’ in its operation. At that time you had to tap on invariably closed doors and hope to be allowed into its hallowed interior if you were known and trusted. You entered a smoke filled atmosphere of ‘serious’ drinking and ‘non’ serious but lively and often impromptu music playing and singing. The bar was very compact, with a series of interlinked small cramped spaces and a small number of treasured ‘snug’s (for those unfamiliar with traditional Irish pub interiors, a snug was a small fully or partly enclosed cubicle where one could imbibe the pleasures of the ‘dreaded’ drink in relative privacy).You invariably had to come early (coming the previous day might even be advisable!!) to gain entry to a snug and invariably a small group of drinkers hovered within your personal ‘comfort zone’ hoping that you would leave and thus give them an opportunity to occupy the treasured space. However, the unwritten rules of pub ‘etiquette’ normally applied (except of course by the tourists who were often unaware of them) in that when you ‘fought’ (in the nicest sense of this word) through a surging throng to get to the toilet, your seat was often ‘taken’ in the snug but would be given back on your return. This was understandable as such a call of nature could take up to a half hour or more as although the distance was finite and small, the human and furniture objects to be negotiated were many and anyway one was usually ‘waylaid’ by a person with a story to impart or a song to sing for your ‘benefit’. Thus, trips to naturally dispose of the human residue of the black stuff required a ‘stoutness’ of purpose and indeed I often had to turn back and go next door to relieve myself.
Another object of dubious value depending upon your time of arrival was a roaring turf fire which occupied a prominent place in one of the small recesses and which of course was a welcome source of heat and comfort on a cold winter’s night in Galway. However, as the pub became ever more crowded as the night progressed, one usually became aware of the amazing sight of people trying to retrieve a pint from the bar while simultaneously trying to avoid being roasted like chestnuts against the raging inferno of the turf fire alongside them. I often think that it was only the thought of carefully balancing the need for both inner and outer well being that made people run to/from that bar counter past the fire with a pint clutched to their chest in case the precious liquid would spill.
Of course, these halcyon days of blissful pleasure were soon interrupted for my good wife and I by the arrival over a couple of short years of two little ‘dotes’ in the form of our little offspring. We soon replaced the exigencies of the bottled black stuff with that of the white stuff associated more with Cow and Gate milk that the St. James Gate (brewery) with which we had previously been more familiar. So for a few ‘dry’ years we only made the journey into town to Neachtains Bar when we could combine it as a night out with a visit to the Druid Theatre and when we had our precious offspring being minded by a tried and trusted babysitter. However, as I worked just a short distance from the pub and as the children grew older, we began to develop a ‘habit’ of calling in for a pint after work on Friday with our two girls ‘in tow’ before heading home for the evening. We would give the girls some money for sweets and they would go across the street and view the toys in the Wooden Heart Toy shop. (I noticed at the weekend that this lovely shop is still going strong although almost 20 years have passed since this time). For a while we thought this to be an ideal solution and money saving exercise as we did not need a baby sitter so often. The girls were always welcome in Neachtains until 7 o’clock in the evening, so we would spend about a half hour there before we left for home. However, our little illusion was soon shattered when our youngest daughter wrote an essay for the teacher on her ‘best weekend ever’. She described how her Daddy & Mammy gave her lots of money to go to the shops to buy sweets and toys while they went to the ‘PUD’ (she had trouble writing ‘b’ letters) and then her Mammy came go and took the tea out of a brown bag! Needless to say the teacher was a little alarmed by the picture painted by our eloquent daughter and we had to assure her profusely that our little darling had a ‘fevered’ imagination at times. However, just to be on the ‘safe side’ and to avoid a visit from child protective services, we decided to restrict our Friday visits as a result.
Many years have passed in the meantime and my wife and I have continued our valued association with Neachtains Bar. However, having had to close my Galway city based business office because of the recession some two years ago, we have not been accustomed to visit as often or as easily as previously. Thus, it was with a little trepidation that we went there for a drink after our Culture Night celebration in Galway on Friday last. It proved to be a wonderful experience and in a sense was like ‘coming home’. There was a wonderful atmosphere of camaraderie and fun and in the corner playing beautiful traditional music were four musicians from Sweden and Finland called ‘Café Minor’.(CD is called Northern lights). I hasten to add that their music may have been ‘Café’ in style but was certainly not minor in quality. They played a lovely tune called ‘Inis Oirr’ which they associated with a ferry to Inisboffin Island and it would bring tears to your eyes such was its intense beauty of expression. However, the rendition of the song that most surprised and amazed me was their take on the Beatles song ‘Norwegian Wood’. Some of the lines in this song are: ‘she asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere, but I looked around and found that there wasn’t a chair’. These lines in a packed Neachtains seemed appropriate to the place at the time but like the song itself they find an echo of memory in the heart and melody in the soul.
So in finishing, may I saw that it is good to be back in Neachtains again and to still feel a close affinity with the place? I think that it is Tony Bennett who sings that ‘he left his heart in San Francisco’. Well, for my part, I left my ‘Wooden Heart’ in a lovely shop opposite Neachtains in Quay street but part of my emotional heart will always be located in a small snug at the back of Neachtains Bar with a little girl whispering in my ear that she wants another wooden toy NOW!
Motto: Children and Neachtains never stop toying with your Heart!
All comments and musings welcome!
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